The Purple Thorn Chronicles: Book 1, a Fantasy fanfic

Prophecy of the Daimons, Part 1:

Rejoice in the coming of the Daimons

Two offspring sired by the Empyrical Gods

One of the Menatarie and one of the Fayrén

The Child of the Dawn will sink into Shadows

The Child of False Night will bring back the Light

When the Dawn prevails, then False Night will parish

Unless great sacrifice be made to save the his soul

Uncover the whereabouts of the remaining T’shari

Bring back the Eternal Fire with the breath of the Phoenix

Heed well this warning lest the Daimons fail this task

If the Eternal Fire’s mighty flame is not reborn

If the Daimons do not brave the its magickal flames

All will fall into the Darkness of the Deceiver

Shaaré spent months in agonizing pain, her child twisted and turned in the womb as she became aware of herself, panic-stricken at the closing walls of the womb about her and her hidden power prickled at the insides of the elf queen’s body. The night her water broke, he appeared. He had not been present the entire time she had been forced to bear this babe alone, but he would see to it that the baby was born on his terms. The hours of labor stretched into the next day and well into the night. One of the midwives had pulled Shaaré’s husband, king Zaiah, aside and asked him to consider cutting the baby from the mother, but the king would not hear of it, he did not want either to be hurt.

“Just give her a few more hours. My wife is a strong woman. It is just the pain of her first child.”

The midwife glared at the king but bowed her head in acquiescence, thinking men knew nothing of the pains of childbirth; he was merely talking out of nescience. Though most women take a long time to give birth when it is their first child, the midwives were worried that the child might cost the queen her life, and it should be her decision as to whether or not she wanted the babe cut from her.

“Push, My Lady! The baby is crowning!” one of the midwives cried.

Shaaré writhed in pain as she tried to birth her child. Her body was covered with sweat; her once fiery-gold locks were disheveled and matted to her forehead and neck. Zaiah worried for his wife but was unaware of the strange guardian lurking in the shadows; only the queen knew he was there. Shaaré’s personal maid dampened the elf queen’s brow with a wet cloth while murmuring words of encouragement to her. In her mind, Shaaré telepathically whispered to her baby, for she knew there was little time she had to speak with her child in this world. The child was aware of what her mother said to her and it soothed her flustered soul. The morning sun peeked over the ridges of the mountains. Aurulent beams shot through the windows and enveloped the weary queen in an auriferous, ethereal aura.

“Now,” the figure in the darkness whispered to the struggling child.

The baby stopped wriggling about long enough to slide from her mother’s womb and all the midwives shouted praise for what a beautiful little girl she was. It took some time to calm the baby’s subtle cries of protest to the midwives’ poking to find anything wrong with her, but she was flawless. They cleaned the baby and dried her off to get a better look at her features. The babe had pallid skin that was velvety to the touch, small curls of pale honey-golden hair streaked lightly with the colors of sunrise, and, when she opened her eyes to the world for the first time, the most dazzling crepuscular eyes. Her cerulean irises were highlighted with the colors of the dawn twilight. Few elven children were born during the dawn, making the trait rare and made the baby all the more bewitching.

Zaiah leaned forward and took the bundled baby from one of the midwives, tenderly kissing the child’s brow. The tiny girl stole his heart the moment she yawned and surveyed him with gleefully curious eyes, reaching for his face with inquisitive, little fingers. Shaaré smiled sadly, as she watched her husband. He was absolutely captivated, totally absorbed, completely enraptured, and utterly riveted by the baby girl he held in his arms. She just could not describe how enamored he was with her. He radiated love and devotion towards this child. She had not the heart to tell him it was not his, not now.

“What shall we call her, my love?”

Something gleamed in the queen’s dark sapphire eyes as her ears perked at the question. There was a brief pause as the elf queen spared the stranger in the shadows a fleeting glance.

“Lynaia.”

Both the king and the unseen being stared at her in disbelieve. “But I thought your family’s tradition demanded that all girls have flower names,” the king said quizzically.

“I do not have a flower name. Besides, I have no doubt she will grow into such immense beauty that they will sing songs about her in fairytales and name a flower in honor of her legendary beauty.” Shaaré’s eyes met those of her mysterious lover and she smiled, knowing he could see the insubordination hidden behind her eyes.

Unknown, within the sacred grove outside of the castle where Lynaia had just been born, a single flower that had been budding for nearly a year, bloomed as the babe opened her eyes into a glorious blossom that contained an array of colors; the same as those found in the newly born’s eyes. No one noticed as they all stood, waiting patiently for news of the baby’s birth and so none were there to see this lovely flower. Tomorrow, the gardener’s vigilant eyes would see it and shrug it off as a wild rose that had usurped the colors of the surrounding roses as a hybrid. Little would she know what that flower truly was, as it was not truly a rose, but the future; the Tears of the Dawn.

Later on, after the all the midwives and king had left Shaaré to rest with her baby, her lover stepped from the shadows and the obscurity followed him so he was unrecognizable to mortal eyes, but he could barely conceal his optical starlit orbs.

“You knew I was supposed to name the babe.”

“You did not have to carry her alone for nine months and endure a full day’s labor to give birth to her. I thought this one little joy would be payment for my suffering. Do not think to change her name either, I will not let you.” She hugged the babe closer to her as if to protect her even though her mysterious male counterpart was easily ten times more powerful than she was.

“I am not longer capable of changing her name, you have tied that name to her soul, and therefore it must be.” He paused a moment and the queen could see sympathy in his crystalline fire eyes. “I must take her now.”

“No! Please, why must you take her so soon?”

“You knew it would come down to this! You knew what she was meant to be the night she was conceived! It is your family’s legacy.”

Tears were streaming down Shaaré’s pale cheeks in untold sorrow and lament for what she was about to do to her daughter and had done to her husband.

“It will break his heart when he discovers she was not his,” she sighed. “I do not think he could stand to know the truth after watching him hold her.”

“He will cope.”

“But I will not.”

He settled down on the bed next to her and cradled her chin in his big hands.

“You are a strong woman, as your husband said. I am sorry for the love you have sacrificed, but I promise there is hope beyond this world. You will yet have eternal happiness with your husband and family, but that will not be for a very long time. You of all people deserve it.”

Shaaré cuddled with her daughter, Lynaia, one last time. She kissed her lovely baby on the top of her soft, fuzzy head and whispered words protected from her present company’s ears, meant only for her daughter. The mysterious stranger began to doubt the queen would willingly surrender their child, but she hesitantly held up Lynaia. He reached out and gently took the child from Shaaré’s arms.

“Goodbye, Shaaré Last Petal.” His words lingered as he disappeared with Lynaia.

Shaaré let out a heart-wrenching scream that filled every room of the castle and beyond. Most in the surrounding villages heard the shriek of a shattered heart and it brought tears to their eyes. That night Shaaré descended into the heartache and dolor that would destroy her.

Sixteen years later, a young girl pranced through a meadow near her parent’s barn. She was chasing butterflies and picking flowers of every color to make a bouquet for her mother. It was a gorgeous day. The sun shined down on her and hugged her in warmth as if it only rose each morning for her alone. The sky above was clear of any clouds that would shadow the young girl’s radiant beauty. She basked in the comfort and light of such a marvelous day, for such were rare as summer ended and autumn’s chill danced on the wind. The girl danced merrily through the colorful flowers, clutching her makeshift bouquet in her hand. Such a perfect day. What could go wrong?

She skipped her way back to the house as the daystar descended and it came time for dinner. When she arrived, she wondered why no smoke rose from the chimney. Surely her mother had begun cooking dinner? She strolled in the house and into the kitchen with the rainbow array of flowers in her hands, ready to greet her parents. As she entered the kitchen she froze. Her parents were sitting at a table with several royal guards and the local landlord. What truly terrified the girl were the shackles on her father’s wrists.

“Kiara, darling, we need to talk,” her mother said so blandly that all beauty was lost to the room. No one noticed the kaleidoscope of prismatic flowers as they struck the floor, nor heard the sound of a breaking heart.

At the same time, a dark elven warrior knelt over his father’s lifeless body in the midst of a bloody battle. The warrior removed his helmet to reveal a teenage boy on the verge of manhood. He stared down at his father’s stagnant corpse with a Dameron’s blade protruding from its belly. Lifeless, somber peridot eyes, the color of spring grass, gaped into the cold Oblivion. The young man let out a vengeful war cry as the battle raged on. He snatched the sword from his father’s body and began hacking through the attacking ice demons, vowing that not one would live as long as it meant he would avenge his father’s untimely demise.

Other Drow warriors took a brief moment to look back at the furious youth and were shocked to see the blood-filled rage radiating from his legendary purplish-red eyes. Some stepped back as the young warrior hacked through the numerous Ice demons, believing that any moment fire would blaze forth from his eyes. The Damerons did not have much time to react before the enraged Dark elf managed to gut them with one of their own swords.

One demon attempted to stop him by blowing harshly towards the dark warrior, his breath carrying shards of ice like glass. Unexpectedly, the Drow leapt into the air and landed directly behind the attacking demon. Before the Dameron had time to blink, the tip of a sword appeared between his eyes and continued to lengthen. The young Drow swiftly dragged the sword upwards, causing the demon’s head to explode in a surge of blood and brain matter. The surrounding Ice demons watched in horror and, without thinking, evacuated the immediate area. The other warriors chased after the fleeing demons, driving them back behind the border, into the Darrows. Those who did not pursue the demons remained behind, staring at the young Drow in disbelief.

“Clean this mess up and have some of the nurses retrieve my father’s body to be cleaned and embalmed. He will be burned at dawn to release his soul,” the young warrior instructed before turning on his heels and joining the other warriors in trailing the retreating Damerons.

There was a small gathering within an abandoned house in the far reaches of the north. Seven cloaked figures sat around a brazier of fading embers.

“It is time.”

They all looked up at the woman who had spoke. Beneath the age worn cloak was a woman as blanch as the moons with hair the shade of the night sky and eyes that looked like liquid silver. All those around her nodded in concurrence.

“The sentinels have awakened and the Lost roam the lands. The Earth-heir and the Sky-heir have set out on their journey. It will be many years before we may assist them in their quest, but we made a pact with Fate not to interfere with their passage. We must watch and hope that they succeed until we are allowed to intervene.”

A man stood next to her. He was her opposite in every way. A strong bronze complexion with golden hair and honey colored eyes.

“I have spoken with the Sinai elders and they await the promised return of their Sacred Daughter, but I do not think they know that she is the one they banished. I cannot help but feel that she will have a role to play in this whole escapade.”

“She was not mentioned.”

“I know, but it is something I have thought about for many years and I think it is to be considered.”

A circle of heads nodded.

“Very well,” the hooded woman concurred. “We will confer it and if it is decided upon that your premise is valid, then it will be brought forth this winter when we convene with the others.”

The golden man bowed his head in thanks to his pale counterpart and shared a secret smile meant for her eyes only.

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